The Best Woman Won
by Till the fat lady sings
Summary: Most likely a series of CopDoc one-shots, exploring possible ways in which Tamsin's and Lauren's relationship might evolve post episode 5.08.
1. Human

**Thanks again, nerdrific79, for making me put the next chapter of Orphans on the back burner :P**

**This is the first of I don't know how many possible continuations of the 5.08 bed scene (yeah, I know it's not technically a bed scene, but a girl can dream, can't she). It's definitely not lighter though. Maybe the next one.**

**Also, trying something new here. First person storytelling is tricky, and I've only done it for my non-fanfic writing until now. Somehow, I thought it might work with this particular chapter. What say you? **

* * *

I walk the streets alone, braving the cold. I starve myself, forgetting to eat for days. I drink myself dead until my mind goes numb and my body riots, and I end up retching on the floor, all bile and venom, hoping I'd die already. And being too much of a chickenshit to do anything about it.

_Fucking charming,_ I tell myself.

Here's the thing. When you've been around for thousands of years, you tell yourself death would be a blessing. But that's a lie. You cling onto every breath, every sound and touch and thought with the brute strength of a tiger trying to escape a poacher's trap. When you've been around for thousands of years and died a hundred deaths, you want to go on forever. But you're too much of a coward to admit it. So you put on a brave face and act like you don't give a shit if you die tomorrow. Hoping that somewhere along the way you'd actually start believing it yourself.

I go around hurting myself anyway I can. Hoping I'd feel something. Hoping I'd feel once again how I did. Sometimes, as I sit at a random bar, drinking my tenth glass of vodka, I remember who I am. If only for a fleeting second, I get overwhelmed by the most terrible anger and I just want to get up and kill everyone in the room. Push so much doubt into their tiny, ignorant human heads until their brains pop. I imagine it in vivid detail, the screams of agonizing terror, the smell and taste of their fear filling my nostrils and mouth, taking me to new heights of exhilaration. I am a god.

And then it all comes back and I start laughing hysterically, all eyes in the bar turning to me. Accusing me, blaming me for ruining their perfect evening. The mad woman who is too young and too pretty and just too well dressed to be mad. I can practically hear them in my head, I read the pity on their faces. _Poor thing, what a sad story she must have._ And then they go back to their drinks and fuck buddies and forget I was even there. Or pretend to forget. Mad people should just be ignored and they'll go away. Even the hot ones. It's common knowledge.

I was a god. Revered. Feared. Worshipped. I could lay waste to entire armies with a flick of my wrist and in the blink of an eye. _And would ya fuckin' look at me now?!_

Ten glasses of vodka is way too much for my new biology and as I stumble out into the street, cursing and mumbling, I seriously doubt I'm ever getting used to this shit. How can you even stand it. Feeling downright exhausted as soon as I get out of bed, getting drunk faster than a fly sucking on a rotten grape, risking death at every fucking step.

I don't know where I'm going – but that's a lie. Actually I do know, I allow my feet to carry me to the only place I've found some kind of solace over the past few weeks. Ever since I woke up. Ever since I stopped being me.

I stumble in without even knocking – I know she never locks her door. I have a key in some pocket somewhere, in case she's out, but I hardly had to use it; maybe two or three times tops. Somehow, I don't know how she does it, but she's almost always there.

"Oh, Tamsin, you startled me," she says, left hand over her heart, in what I've come to understand was just one of those useless gestures humans do without even realizing. A reflex, meant to offer comfort. _The only kind of comfort I cared about was sex. And alcohol. And maybe a good fight. Fine, I know how to count._

"Yeah, you're… easily startled… doc," I retort, trying to sound way sober than I actually am. But she knows. She can probably smell it on me. I'm reeking of alcohol and smoke and the sweat of dozens of people crammed into a small stinky pub. I sniff myself and shrug. _I'm disgusting._

"Where have you been? What are you doing here?" she asks, as she does on all the nights I make my way into her home. I can see real concern in her eyes, which is only making me want to hurt her even more. Hurt everybody else more. I purse my lips and keep silent. It only takes two big steps to get right in front of her, and I wrap my arms around her slender frame, my face just an inch away from hers.

_Personal space. I know this is wrong, okay?_

We're breathing the same air now, and she tries to push me away but I'm having none of it. I press harder and I feel the pressure of her hands on my chest subsiding just a fraction, enough to allow me one final push to get my mouth on hers, my lips and tongue barely able to catch a taste of her sweetness. She smells of vanilla.

I tell myself I just want to rile her up, hurt her, make her angry for a change. She is calm and collected, as usual, and it's driving me insane.

I want to be hurt. I deserve it.

But she doesn't. Hurt me. Instead, she just pushes me gently away, not for good, but enough to allow herself some space to breathe. She keeps her hands on my chest and looks at me closely, so intensely that I have to look away. The pity is evident on her face.

I don't want it. I hate it. I need it. I need her to pity me because of what I was and no longer am. Because now I am just like her.

No, I am beneath her.

She doesn't even slap me this time. She doesn't remind me that she's with Bo. That the best woman won, the words still echo at the back of my head whenever I see the two of them together. And it hurts even more.

_I'm human now, why won't you pick me?_

I'm tired. I let go of her and take a step back.

"What do you want, Tamsin?" she asks softly.

"Make me Fae again," I whisper, feeling the tears welling up in my eyes, threatening to burst out any second now. She closes the distance between us and pulls me into a tight hug. The tears start flowing and there's nothing I can do to stop.

"I can't. It's impossible," she whispers back, and I feel her hand in my hair, trying to soothe me.

It's my turn to try and push her back, but she won't let go.

"You're fucking useless, Lauren. What good are you if you can't help me, huh? What, are you afraid I'd steal your precious succubus if I'm back? Relax, she's not that great in bed anyway, you can keep her." _Does it hurt yet?_ I know I've hit a nerve now, but she still won't let go of me. I feel her chest heaving and the wetness of her tears on my shoulder and the overwhelming feeling of guilt I'm experiencing hits me harder than all the remorse and regret I've been carrying with me for centuries.

I pull her closer, till our bodies are almost one, and we stay there, crying, for I don't know how long. When we finally stop she brings me a glass of water and an aspirin, and starts setting up my bed on her couch. Without a single word. I've been crashing on this couch more or less every night ever since I woke up from the coma. Some nights, I find some shabby motel and stay up in my room until 3 a.m., drinking and watching old movies. Other nights, I just pass out in my truck. But this is the only place I've been feeling safe lately. Bo wanted me to move back in with her. Dyson offered to find me an apartment. But no matter what I do, I always end up back here. This is the only place I want to be, really. And the thought scares me.

She stays with me, and makes sure I've taken my shoes off before I lie down. She always leaves a clean T-shirt and sweatpants by the couch for me, in case I ever decide to change into something more comfortable. I never do, afraid of what it might mean.

She only turns off the light after I'm all settled in and ready for bed. "Good night, Tamsin," she says as she heads to her room.

"G'night, doc," I grumble. "Listen, I'm so…"

"Forget about it. Go to sleep."

I nod stupidly in the darkness, although she can't see me, and I listen to her moving away, and the sound of her bedroom door closing quietly behind her.

I fall asleep almost instantly, thinking of her honey colored hair and beautiful dark eyes. I have no idea how I got here, but there's no other place I'd rather be.


	2. You're blushing

**Again trying something else here. Also, this must be the fluffiest thing I've ever written (fluff without plot? have I really done it?). What do you think, fellas? And thanks for reading!**

* * *

"I meant it, you know. Every word of it."

"What?"

"Back there at the… party slash trap slash 'let's barbecue Tamsin' moment. And don't laugh!"

"Mhm… right… sorry. You were saying?"

"I meant it. I mean it. The best woman won. I got over it, and so should you."

"Okay… thanks, I guess."

"You're not listening to me, doc."

"What do you mean? What are you saying, Tamsin?

"I'm saying that I'm done, I'm over Bo. And you should be too."

"Umm… doesn't that sort of cancel out what you just said earlier?"

"Umm… let me think… No?"

"Tamsin, you're not making any sense. One does not simply 'get over Bo.'"

"Ha, I see what you did there. Jeez, you're such a nerd. And don't even dare tell me 'takes one to know one' or any of that shit!'"

"Ah, Valkyrie, your acute observations and profound assessments of the human condition never cease to amaze me. It's like you are inside my head. Astounding!"

"Hmmm, damn right, and I can think of another place or two the inside of which might be worth exploring…"

"Seriously, Tamsin?! What got into you? Just in case you need a reminder: I'm with Bo, you know. Together. As a couple."

"So?"

"What do you mean, so?"

"So what, doc? It's not like you're conjoined twins or anything."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Do you even know where she is right now?"

"Yeah, I do, and don't change the subject! It's feeding night so I know perfectly well… well, no, not really. And don't give me that smirk. Point is, I don't need to know where she is exactly all the time. I trust her."

"Yeah, yeah, you keep saying. "

"I do. It's part of having a mature relationship based on respect, mutual understanding and trust. Not that you would know."

"Ouch, that actually hurt, doc. But look at you all grown-up and proud of your little Succubus! My my, you really are too good to be true, aren't you?"

"What is it that you want, Tamsin? I don't have to stand here and put up with your attitude, you know. I've got better things to do. I've got tests to run, samples to file, things to…"

"Go out with me."

"… Wait, what?"

"You, me, drinks, now."

"No! Why on earth would you even… What got into you?"

"C'mon, doc. It'll be fun."

"Describe 'fun.'"

"You know, just… hang out, have a drink, talk, get into a bar fight, end the night making out passionately in the back of my truck, that sort of thing…"

"What?"

"Just messin' with you, doc! Thing is, I've been thinking… and I just, you know, I think I wanna get to know you better."

"Oh. That's nice, Tamsin, but perhaps I wasn't clear enough. I don't know what game you're playing, if it is a game, and I don't think I want to know, but I'm with Bo, and we're happy together. I want this to be clear."

"And I'm going to ask you again: So what? What's the harm in grabbing a drink with me while the love of your life is of bumping uglies with some random fae in a cheap motel or public john somewhere?"

"Well, that's her nature, Tamsin, you know as well as I do that she can't have just one… partner. She has to feed."

"And you know as well as I do that humans aren't wired for monogamy. You're the scientist, Lauren, for fuck's sake. Nothing wrong with… communing with other fish in the sea, is there?"

"Seriously? You being the fish in this analogy?"

"Only if you're a pescetarian, doc."

"You are aware that you've just pleaded against monogamy a second earlier, right?..."

"Yeah, but with you it would be different…"

"Different how?"

"Just, hmmm, different, you know…"

"Great, shrugging will always do the trick when you don't know what to answer. Very grown-up. Tamsin. Look, monogamy may not be in our DNA, true, but it's a matter of choice. I choose to be with Bo and only her. Plus, you hate me."

"Hate you? No way! Well, maybe a little. But a girl's allowed to change her mind, isn't she?"

"Oh, Tamsin, really? You're smirking again…"

"And you're smiling that sexy smile of yours. And blushing? You're actually enjoying this bantering, ain't ya? C'mon, doc, let's go out, have a bit of fun, get to know each other better. Bo wouldn't mind. I'm telling you, all work and no play makes us both a dull… Nah, that's just wrong."

"Yeah, you can say that again… You're not going to give up, are you?"

"Absolutely not."

"Answer me this first: different how?"

"Different like… I think I may have misjudged you… to the point where I realize you're the kind of woman one could spend their whole life with and never need anyone else, that sort of thing… So I was wrong, and now I understand. Bo is a lucky girl."

"I don't know what to say to that, Tamsin..."

"You don't have to say anything. Just, what d'ya say about going out? We on?"

"Fine, maybe, but just one drink… Okay?"

"Excellent! Let's get out of here. And Lauren, would you relax? It's just a drink, it's not like I'm asking your hand in marriage or anything… Yet."

"Ow!…."

"Whoops, watch your step over there!"

"I'm fine, I'm fine. Let's just go, grab that drink and get this over with."

"As you wish, my lady. Lead the way."

"Stop smirking."

"I will when you stop blushing."

"I'm not!"

"You totally are."

"Umm… isn't the Dal the other way?"

"We're not going to the Dal."

"But… why? I really don't think it's safe… I would strongly recommend that we turn around and…"

"Live a little, doc! I am taking you dancing. Totally safe, good music, good booze, cozy seats. I promise you'll love it."

"I don't dance, Tamsin. I'm not dancing with you."

"… Fine. Then I suppose you'll just have to watch me. But I have to warn you, I can be very… persuasive."

"Tamsin…."

"Okay, fine. Whatever you say. We'll just hang out, grab a couple of drinks…"

"One drink."

"... one drink, and watch other people dancing and make fun of them. Better?"

"Much."

"Grrreat. But I will get you dancing eventually, doc. That's a promise. Maybe not tonight, maybe not the next time, but…"

"What makes you think there's even gonna be a next time?"

"Oh, doc, trust me, you're gonna want there to be a next time."

"Really now?"

"Yep. You'll see. And you do know that that raised eyebrow of yours is only making you cuter, right?"

"Tamsin, I'm warning you…"

"And I'm loving it! Keep at it and I might just make you beg for a next time before the night is over."

"Oh really? Arrogant much? You seem to have so much confidence in your dating abilities."

"Yes. And you like it, admit it."

"I most certainly do not!"

"You do realize you've just referred to our friendly outing as a date, I hope?"

"...Shit."

"Yep. And look at you, you're blushing again! That's so unbelievably cute, doc!"

"Shut up."

"Make me, grumpy."

"I just might. Maybe after that drink."

"…"

"Now look who's blushing."


	3. Silences

**So sorry it took me ages. Things happened and for a while I wasn't even sure I could be writing again. I'm still not sure. **

**A big thank you to all of you for your patience. Thank you for reading. It always means the world.**

* * *

It's not like it was her fault. Anything but, if you asked her. Tamsin was the one who started it after all, that evening after one too many drinks, both of them frustrated enough with the work they'd done all day without any progress to look for some kind of relief. A distraction of some kind.

"I think that's enough for today, doc. You need a break," she smiled sincerely, as she handed the doctor the first glass of vodka. It had taken Tamsin precisely 60 seconds to track down her no-so-secret vodka stash and pour a couple of glasses for both of them. She accepted it graciously, tilted her head to the side slightly, with a small smile on her lips, before raising her glass and throwing back the alcohol without even breathing.

Tamsin had not taken her eyes off for a second. "Wow, I'm impressed," she smirked, filling up Lauren's glass with even more vodka this time around.

"Well, you shouldn't be. I'll have you know I have quite a taste for something strong now and then." Tamsin quirked an eyebrow incredulously and bit her lower lip but didn't say anything. It was terribly distracting.

In hindsight, maybe it wasn't Tamsin who started it after all.

Even if after their fourth glass or so, work forgotten and in the middle of a silly conversation about kung fu films, while attempting to illustrate a most effective parrying move, the Valkyrie darted forward without warning and pressed her warm lips against hers, moaning softly. She wasn't sure how to interpret the sound, it was almost needy and weak, which was so uncharacteristically Tamsin. But what surprised her more was that she answered the kiss without even batting an eye, allowing her mouth to move freely under Tamsin's soft lips and hot breath. It didn't take much adjusting at all, and soon, her tongue started prodding gently, insisting for access into the Valkyrie's mouth. She was not met with any resistance, and they allowed the kiss to deepen, until there was nothing there but lips and mouth and teeth, hands moving frantically across their bodies, looking for skin, looking for closeness.

It was easy, kissing Tamsin. It felt like she had been doing it for a long time. There was no competition, there was no struggle for dominance, there was just an elegant dance of lips and tongues moving in a perfect beat, albeit hungry and hurriedly, as if they had been doing it for ages. It felt right and Lauren allowed herself to get lost in that feeling of comfort, almost forgetting herself. Until Tamsin pulled back all of a sudden, a horrified look on her face.

Lauren found herself missing the other woman's mouth on hers, the soft fingers grazing her skin, as soon as the Valkyrie stepped back.

It was not her fault, really. She hadn't started this. She didn't want this.

Which made it impossible to understand why she resented the look of shame clouding Tamsin's beautiful features right after. Wide-eyed and flustered, the Valkyrie mumbled a quick apology and walked out – no, almost broke into a run, as if she had an entire army of angry Cherufe hot on her tail.

* * *

They actively avoided each other for the next few weeks, hoping that if they wouldn't talk about it and if they put enough distance between them, it would just go away.

It didn't.

Her mind drifted back to the kiss too many times to be considered healthy. Sometimes even when she was with Bo, she was ashamed to admit. It's not that she wanted to be with Tamsin instead, but against her better judgment, her mind obstinately refused to erase the memory of the Valkyrie's lips and tongue against hers. More than once, she found herself thinking of Tamsin's hands on her, her perfect mouth mapping her skin. And if that wasn't enough, she started seeing the Valkyrie in all the little things. How that particular shade of green she was wearing reminded her of Tamsin's eyes. How the crisp smell of snow underneath her boots was just like Tamsin's scent. How the velvety touch of her bedsheet at night was just like the Valkyrie's lips on her neck.

Not seeing each other for close to three weeks helped. The memory had not faded away, but Lauren was by then confident she could ignore it successfully and safely be in the Valkyrie's presence once again.

She was wrong.

"Awkward," Tamsin mumbled with an annoyed look on her face after they stared at each other for a few good minutes. It was exactly 22 days after their kiss and circumstance, or as you have it, Bo and Dyson going off to play detective again, had conspired to bring the doctor and the Valkyrie back together in the same room again. Alone.

So they stared at each other. And stared. So intensely that Lauren started feeling a timid blush creeping up her face. It was then that Tamsin turned around briskly, determined to save themselves the embarrassment.

"Tamsin, wait." Nope, it was too late.

"What, doc?" she turned only halfway, her left hand already reaching for the doorknob.

"Please stay. We need to talk."

"Do we now?" She had turned back fully by now and gave Lauren a hard stare. Again with that perfectly quirked eyebrow, making Lauren think things she shouldn't have. Not then, not ever.

The doctor gulped and nodded, wishing she could be more eloquent than this, but her body had a mind of its own and only the idea of having Tamsin within her reach again left her unbelievably confused.

"Look, Lauren, let me save you the trouble. We don't. Really, we don't have to talk about… It was a mistake, I'm sorry and it won't happen again. Happy now?" she breathed out the words as fast as possible as if she wanted to get them out before they'd cause irreparable damage, and ended with one of her trademark grins.

"How do you know?" was all that Lauren could say after a long pause.

"Know what?" Again with that bloody raised eyebrow.

"That it won't happen again."

"Because it... wait, what are you saying?"

"Are you sure it won't happen again?" Lauren said in a low, sultry voice, moving closer to Tamsin. She couldn't believe the words that had just come out of her mouth.

"Lauren." Tamsin growled after a brief pause. It was probably supposed to be a warning, but the doctor found it didn't matter. It was low and menacing, but utterly fascinating, reminding Lauren of a very large, very dangerous animal circling its prey. Maybe it should have scared her, pushed her away, but she was shocked to discover that it had quite the opposite effect.

Warning aside, Tamsin stood her ground. She was not one to take a step back, in battle or love. When Lauren crashed into her, all teeth and lips and tongue, hands roaming over her entire body with frantic movements, tearing at her clothes, fingers winding in her hair, the Valkyrie was stunned. But she was also pretty sure the doctor would come back to her senses soon enough and realize what she was doing.

How she was probably just feeling lonely and Tamsin was just there, convenient, attentive, and, let's face it, hot as hell. Also, quite interested.

A while ago Tamsin would have rather jumped off a cliff than call herself convenient or attentive. Disgusting, really, what these people had done to her. How weak and despicable she had become. The human would realize what she was doing and probably pull back in horror.

Yep.

Any minute now.

Just you wait.

She didn't though. She actually pulled closer and closer and soon enough Tamsin was already half naked, up on the counter, legs wrapped around the doctor's waist while Lauren was kissing and licking her throat. The human was pressing all the right buttons and when she curled her fingers inside Tamsin and bit hard on her left breast, the Valkyrie came violently, looking deeply into Lauren's dark eyes as she rode down her climax. What she saw there was entirely new and felt like a punch to her gut, but not in a bad way. As hard as she tried, she couldn't remember ever seeing anything like it before.

Not that she had the time to think it through at the moment, as Lauren was on her again, tearing down the last few items of clothing she still had on, flipping her around and taking her from behind.

Face pressed against the table, Lauren's able fingers buried deep inside her, her crotch pushing hard against her back, it was rough and fast and Tamsin would have lied to say she didn't like it. Giving in to the human felt strangely liberating, she was surprised to discover.

Lauren loved it, too, but she would have been hard-pressed to admit it out loud. And later, as she remembered the marks she had drawn on the Valkyrie's neck and back, the bruises her fingers had left behind on the other woman's skin, Lauren felt more ashamed and embarrassed than she had ever been her entire life. _Like a common whore_, she kept on thinking. Not that she actually knew what it was like to fuck a common whore, but she imagined that's what it must be like. Dirty and fast and shameful.

Tamsin didn't get to reciprocate though. She was still panting on the floor of Lauren's kitchen, trying to catch her breath enough to mount a proper response to what the doctor had just done to her when Lauren asked the question.

It felt just like coming back from a medically induced coma after someone had taken a baseball bat at you repeatedly.

"What happened between you two?"

_Cockblocker much?_ She didn't answer. She just got up and started picking up her discarded clothes, trying to throw them on and get out as soon as possible. Lauren was still giving her an inquisitive look, obviously intent on getting an answer.

"Nothing. Doesn't matter," she blurted out while trying to pull her jeans back on. _Why the fuck was she insisting on wearing pants this tight?_

"Of course it matters Tamsin," Lauren replied softly, but in her annoying 'I-know-better' tone. "After your little speech about how the best…"

"I don't want to talk about it," she interrupted and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

It really didn't matter anymore. Lauren had no idea.

* * *

It was a mistake. All of it. None of this should have ever happened. She should have been more careful, more prepared, able to get Bo out of the way before the manticore struck. In her defense, she was terribly distracted – as a matter of fact she had been living in a continuous state of distraction for the last few weeks, ever since she had kissed Lauren for the first time.

"What's up with you?" Dyson asked in his obnoxious, over-caring way, pulling her away from the rest of the gang to 'talk in private.'

"Huh? Nothing. Why would there be something wrong?"

"You've been acting weird. Like… you're not here anymore."

"That's because I'm not," she grinned smugly and turned on her heels, ready to strut off.

"Tamsin," he tried one more time.

"Save it, wolf," she spat back and walked away.

Funny how that was the only thing she seemed to be doing lately. Walking away.

She hated herself for it but that evening, as Bo was busy healing with 'no-strings-attached' Dyson, Tamsin barged into Lauren's office with a bottle of the most expensive wine she could find and one red rose she had gripped so tightly she had crushed its stem beyond repair. Can you even repair a flower?

"Is that supposed to be an apology?" Lauren joked before a hard glare from Tamsin made her swallow her words.

The Valkyrie kept silent after planting the rose and wine on Lauren's desk, watching them intently, as if they were going to vanish into thin air if not for her watchful eye. The intensity of her stare made the air thick and heavy, brimming with electricity just like before a violent summer storm.

"If anyone should be apologizing here, Lauren…" she began eventually.

"I know!" She swallowed hard, not sure how to get the words out. _How do you even apologize for something like that?_ "I… I don't know what came over me, really. I totally understand if you're upset… I'm very sorry, Tamsin."

"Don't be. There's nothing to be sorry about." Her response was calm and reassuring, as was her entire demeanor. She didn't say anything else but somehow that was enough.

And while she was taking out a couple of glasses and the corkscrew, Lauren wondered when it was exactly that Tamsin had begun speaking in silences. Sure, the Valkyrie was still made of sharp wit and snark, and Lauren was quite sure that in some dictionary somewhere the definition of 'sarcasm' actually had the picture of a mad-grinning Tamsin, but lately her silences had been more eloquent than her words, and her whole attitude had become more sullen.

Lauren wasn't sure when the change had started. Perhaps after the lightning incident with Zeus. Perhaps after the Valkyrie's fallout with Bo.

But gone were the days when Tamsin would make the silliest, most childish comments and jokes. Gone were the days when she would cut through someone mercilessly, with a single word and a steely glare. No, this Tamsin was neither childish nor exasperatedly frustrated. All she was was silent. She was utterly, irreparably broken, and Lauren wondered why nobody else seemed to notice this. Or if they did, why they didn't try to do anything about it.

"Lately," Tamsin broke the silence with a loud huff, finally lifting her eyes to meet Lauren's beautiful dark gaze. "Lately," she began again, sounding almost coy, "I've been finding myself… drawn to you in ways I can't…"

"I didn't want any of this." Her voice came out sharper than she intended, but she couldn't back down now. "I don't want it. You started it." Her tone sad and accusing. A hurt look flashed briefly across Tamsin's face before the Valkyrie sighed in resignation and looked away once again.

"It's true. I did."

And then there was more silence. For so long that Lauren wondered if Tamsin was going to say anything else, apologize or fight back or just… do something.

"You're toxic, Lauren. To me, you're toxic," she explained seeing the shocked look on the doctor's face. "I can't stay away from you. I know it's wrong, but I can't." She spat the words out quickly, her face stern but her eyes full of unshed tears when she finally turned her head to look at Lauren.

"Fair enough," the doctor sighed after a long pause of her own, struggling to get her breathing and heart rate under control. The way Tamsin was looking at her was making her head spin.

"I _don't want_ to stay away from you, Lauren," the Valkyrie added eventually.

And then Lauren stopped breathing, witnessing her very last shred of self-control and effort to keep things in check being torn down by the simplest of words.

Tamsin was looking down again, studying her otherwise incredibly beautiful fingers for any signs of mischief. She still wasn't sure that her initial plan – to show up with a missing hand and full of blood, wasn't the better idea after all. At least she would have had a viable excuse to be there.

"Then don't," Lauren replied curtly and before she had any chance to reconsider, she closed the distance between them in a single step, grabbed the Valkyrie's face and pulled her into a deep, rough kiss. Because in that moment Lauren could not recall ever seeing something more beautiful and vulnerable than the woman in front of her. And for all her remarkable strengths and incredible powers, the Valkyrie had to be consumed, taken completely in a way that had been entirely foreign to Lauren until then.

So she kissed hard and grabbed even harder, but the Valkyrie stopped her this time. Gently cupping her face between her hands, Tamsin brushed their lips together in the lightest of touches, pulling back whenever Lauren attempted to deepen the kiss.

"I thought you liked it rough," she huffed in frustration after Tamsin's tongue escaped her hungry mouth one more time.

"I do," the Valkyrie chuckled throatily, her lips curled in a ridiculous smirk, and her breath hot and wet against Lauren's lips. "But slow and soft is nice too."

Lauren would have growled were it not for Tamsin's tongue finally slipping into her mouth, her hands slowly gliding down her neck, over her shoulders, starting to unbutton her shirt. The movements were slow, deliberate, in perfect sync with the symphony of their mouths together, and when Tamsin's fingers finally grazed her naked skin, Lauren's knees buckled and her whole body shuddered violently as if it was the first time she was touched. Tamsin stopped, her strong hands steadying her, holding her up.

Eyes locked, they were both silent for a long time, their bodies still pressed closely together. It would be hard to tell what was said without words between them in that moment, but one thing was for sure.

Lauren didn't need words to understand. Not this time.

The look on Tamsin's face was unmistakable.

Contrary to her instincts screaming and kicking, Tamsin didn't run away. She spent the night, holding Lauren in her arms, placing gentle kisses on her face and neck, fingers roaming freely across her soft skin, knowing all too well that this was the only chance she'd get. The only time she'd be allowed this.

"They'll say I'm doing this to get back at Bo."

"Well, are you?" Lauren smirked, already knowing the answer. Tamsin went silent again.

"What happened was that I foolishly imposed my own feelings on her," she started again after a long time, when Lauren thought she had already fallen asleep. She spoke softly, hating herself for how her voice cracked under the weight of the memory. It was still painful in a way. "I should have known better. I… I believed in something that wasn't there."

Lauren just lay there, head on Tamsin's shoulder, arm draped around the Valkyrie's waist. She listened but didn't say anything as she felt her heart shatter into a thousand pieces. For Tamsin, for her, for Bo.

This was the last time and they both knew it.

* * *

"So, I noticed you've been spending a lot of time with Tamsin lately," Bo said in a vague attempt at sounding more cheerful than she was, as she sat down opposite Lauren. It was a Friday night and the Dal was packed, so she actually had to raise her voice to make sure she was being heard, even if there was nobody else at Lauren's table.

"Yes, I have," Lauren nodded, taking a sip of wine. Her voice was steady and sure. She had nothing to be ashamed of.

"That's nice," Bo smiled, her eyes darting across the room to a small table at the back of the bar, almost entirely engulfed in darkness, where Tamsin was sitting all alone, save from the bottle of vodka keeping her company. "Glad to see she's trying to make friends."

_Here goes. _

"Bo, we're more than friends."

She had foolishly hoped she wouldn't have to say more, that Bo would understand, but the puzzled look on the Succubus's face made her realize she really had to spell things out.

"Tamsin and I… have slept together."

"What?!" Bo practically shouted, drawing a few curious gazes to their table. Lauren just looked down, wondering why she wasn't feeling guiltier than she did.

"Tell me you're joking, Lauren!" The Succubus was furious. Lauren was still keeping silent. "But... why? Why would you…? Why her? Is this because I'm having sex with others? Because you know that I wouldn't, I wouldn't need to if you were…" she stopped abruptly realizing what she was about to say.

"If I were enough." Lauren smiled sadly. "Yes, I know, Bo. I can never be enough."

"Lauren, that's not what I meant," the Succubus replied more calmly, not liking where the discussion was heading. "It's just that… I didn't know you… wanted that, that you wanted… her…"

"Yeah, well, I didn't know either, Bo," Lauren sighed, wringing her hands under the table in a desperate attempt to keep herself calm. The memory of Tamsin's hand holding her own as they orgasmed together flashed briefly through her mind. This wasn't helping.

"Then… what? What did she do? How dare she, when she knows perfectly well we're together?"

"She didn't do anything. Everything was my fault."

"I don't know why I'm having a hard time believing that, Lauren!" Bo wouldn't relent.

"It's true. I started this and pushed her and now…"

"This is all to get back at me, right? She's angry with me and she's trying to hurt me through you!"

And Lauren tried, she really tried to stay calm and be mature about everything, but this was too much.

"Bo, this isn't about you!" she spat angrily, not caring about the inquisitive looks of all the Fae there, heads turning to their table, or about Trick's worried gaze as he was trying to busy himself polishing a glass. "Nobody's trying to get back at you," she continued, lowering her voice considerably. "Are you really going to sit there and tell me that the only reason someone might find me attractive enough to want to fuck me would be to get back at you?"

"N-n-no, Lauren, that's not…" Bo barely managed to speak under Lauren's verbal assault.

"Or that I should just sit idly and be at peace with you fucking Dyson and random Fae because it's your nature, and I just can't ever be enough for you? I have needs too, Bo! And I tried, I really tried, but I can't. I just can't be fine with this. I love you, I always will, and I love what you are but there will always be something at the back of my head, nagging me, making me doubt myself, and hate myself for accepting to share you. Always. And it's not fair to you, and it's not fair to me either."

"Lauren, don't, please."

She hated the hurt look on Bo's face. She hated herself for having caused it.

"I think she might be having feelings for me," she said quietly.

"Now that's a quick bounce back if ever I saw one."

"What's that supposed to mean," Lauren snapped, perhaps harsher than she had intended.

"It means that this is ridiculous! A few weeks ago she had feelings for me, do you honestly expect me to believe that she got over it that quickly? Don't you see she's playing you? She's clingy and emotional and vindictive, in a creepy _Fatal Attraction_ sort of way!" Bo's anger was rising again.

"I don't recall you ever having a pet rabbit, Bo."

"Very funny. I swear I will kill her."

"You will do no such thing, Bo! Look, I… you know she looks up to you? Even after what happened between you, whatever it was. She cares about you."

"Yeah, that's not the word she used," Bo hissed impatiently. If it was supposed to hurt, it was definitely mission accomplished. Lauren gritted her teeth and counted to five.

"And what did you say? When she told you what she felt?"

"That she didn't know what she was talking about. Clearly."

"And was that before or after you welcomed her into your bed, Bo?"

The Succubus flinched visibly. "It was just sex, Lauren. Just sex, it didn't mean anything."

"Yeah, well, one day you'll have to realize, Bo, that to some people sex isn't just sex! To some people it means a whole lot more, alright?"

"That's not fair, Lauren."

"No, I guess it isn't. But what I know is that… I have absolutely no doubt what she's feeling for me is genuine…" she said, almost in a whisper.

"What… what are you saying, Lauren?" Bo asked after a long pause.

"I'm saying…" she began, not sure how to continue. But the answer became painfully obvious as soon as her eyes met Tamsin's sad gaze from across the room, just for a brief moment before the Valkyrie lowered her eyes back to her vodka glass again.

"What I'm saying is that I don't want to break her heart."

* * *

Tamsin wasn't sure what was going on between Lauren and Bo, but she felt the tension rising, the atmosphere charged with simmering anger and heavy words, and she realized that it had to be about her. She wasn't upset or surprised, she had expected Lauren to tell Bo everything anyway.

So when she saw the Succubus standing up abruptly, violently pushing back her chair, and eyes flashing blue, she just took a deep breath and prepared herself to get her ass kicked in what would undoubtedly be one of the most epic beatings she would ever experience. Because no matter how hard Bo would hit, she would not respond and she would take every punch and every kick eagerly, and relish the pain. She deserved it. Everything was her fault.

But to her great surprise, Bo did not charge her. On the contrary, she stormed out of the Dal, looking neither left nor right, and not throwing a single glance her way. She became even more confused when she saw Lauren getting up and slowly making her way to her table, a dejected look on her face.

The doctor plopped down in a chair beside her, and for a long time she just sat there motionless, looking away and barely breathing. Apparently Tamsin's silences were contagious.

"As it turns out, you were right after all," Lauren sighed eventually, grabbing the bottle of vodka and pouring herself a shot.

"About?" Tamsin asked, allowing her gaze to find Lauren's once again, afraid of what she would find there. But she had no reason to worry. The other woman's eyes were sad but soft and inviting. Just like that first time they kissed. Just like that last time they kissed, after making love until early in the morning.

"That the best woman won," Lauren replied simply and downed her drink in a single gulp.


	4. Waiting

You stand there in the shadows.

Watching.

Waiting.

Perhaps lurking would be a more fitting term?

You would laugh at that, mirthlessly, and make one of your incredulous expressions, if only there were anyone there to see you. To witness your lips curling in one of your trademark smirks, your eyebrows furrowing in your signature scowl.

But there's no one there.

Wrong.

You're not there.

Yet, you are. Hiding in plain sight. Always there, with them, but not being able to touch or feel or speak. After the initial shock wore off, after you yelled and thrashed and tried so hard to reach out to someone, anyone, after you shook off the catatonic state you'd quietly slipped into when the anger wasn't enough anymore, you're still there. Watching. Talking to them sometimes, even though they can't hear you.

Waiting.

But what you are waiting for, you don't know.

As days turn into weeks into months into years, you come to terms with it. Nobody's looking for you. You're just a fading memory to them. A name spoken less and less every day, until you're just an occasional toast on New Year's Eve or other stupid celebration. They honor your sacrifice. And you would laugh at this again, wholeheartedly, and make one of your snide remarks, because you know better. There's no honor in getting struck by lightning. And there's no sacrifice because technically, you're not dead.

Just there, in the cracks.

Waiting.

It's infuriating at first. How you're never able to move away from any of them. Perpetually there, seeing them live their lives without you. Unknown. Unrequited. The story of your life.

But years go by and you're still there, forced to keep on watching. You discover there's a certain voyeuristic pleasure in it. One that goes beyond the limits of the flesh you no longer have. You never suspected you had it in you.

Pleasure should be immaterial now.

Not a ghost. Not a body. Not alive. Not dead.

You wonder briefly if that's what he felt like, being written out of history. Stuck on an impossible train for ages, and almost not a single living soul remembering he was ever there. And it was all your fault.

But if he could do it, so can you. Until she finds you and sets you free, just like she did with him.

So you just settle there nicely and follow her everywhere. The love of your life and you, her own personal, totally useless, guardian angel.

You watch her be happy. Working hard to be happy. You see her riding the tide of victory after they win without you. You're happy for her and even happier for yourself because that means she'll start looking for you now.

It takes you a while to realize that she has no intention to.

To them, you're not there anymore. Already forgotten.

But there's nowhere else to go.

So you watch her making it work with her new lover, old lover, the shoes you thought you'd fill but were so devastatingly mistaken. All of that domestic bliss would make your stomach turn if you still had one.

They're together most of the time so you watch them both, even as they grow apart. You watch her screw up what she has and how she lies about it. She never does seem to learn, does she? She screws up again and again, the little fool, until it's too late to make it right.

You watch them fight and make up. Fight again and hurl insults at each other. And eventually, they decide to part ways, as you always expected they would.

You'd gloat right now, if you could. Only that you don't feel like it. Not after you witness the mess your great love left in her wake.

Somewhere along the way, your attention shifted focus and you didn't even realize it. You should hate this woman with all your might. It should have been you in her place. For a while, you pretend that you do hate her and you tell yourself that what you do is just 'keeping an eye on the competition.'

But when she's all alone and she thinks nobody can see her, she's just like you. You hide behind sarcasm and passive-aggressive banter. She hides behind dry humor and science. But with her guard down, you can see just how vulnerable she really is. And you can't hate her.

After the breakup, she throws herself into her work with the desperation and determination of a little dog on their first day in the park. She does kind of remind you of a puppy, with those big, brown, wet eyes of hers.

You watch her work, curiously. Test tubes, strange substances, petri dishes with unknown cultures.

This is her life.

It's almost as sad as yours.

And when all work is done, every item cleaned and polished and placed where it belongs, she finally breaks. Her shoulders slumped forward, chest heaving, angry sobs and wails dying in her throat, choking her. Ever polite and proper, even in heartbreak.

You shift your gaze, uncomfortably. It's funny how even now, away from prying eyes and questioning gazes, you're still embarrassed by crying.

When the violent wave of pain and anger finally subsides she lowers herself on the floor, leans her back against a wall, and stays there, motionless, staring into nothingness for hours on end. You give in pretty quickly. Mumbling an excuse only you can hear, you sit next to her as gently as possible so as not to disturb her. And then you chastise yourself for being an idiot. It's not like she can hear you or feel you there anyway.

After a while, you find that staring into nothingness is more comforting than you remembered. More comforting in her presence. You would let your guard down now, if it hadn't been lowered already by all these years as a mute, invisible witness.

Neither of you moves away that night, and morning finds you still there.

Staring.

Waiting.

Waiting for what.

You know now.

For it to stop hurting.

For her. For you.

Her presence soon becomes oddly soothing so you start finding excuses to avoid going away and checking on the others. What's worse is that you can't even find her boring anymore. In your defense, even a speck of dust traveling on a gust of wind from point A to point B at a constant speed of 15 miles per hour would be more interesting than your existence right now.

So you stay with her, watching her do tedious house chores and quirky experiments, watching her read biology books and pulp novels – her guilty pleasure no one but you knows about, and you make jokes and sarcastic comments from the safety of your invisibility. All in good nature, but sometimes you just take it too far, as you always did. And then you berate yourself and apologize profusely. Even though it falls on deaf ears.

You're pretty certain this would qualify for creepy stalkerish behavior but you couldn't care less. You've never felt this alive before.

You don't even realize when you start talking to her, really talking. Telling her things about yourself no one has ever known. Things even you can barely remember. Things about yourself you never dreamed of telling anyone else. She can't respond, but you imagine she does. You start giving meaning to her gestures while you talk, as if she was actually reacting to your stories. A frown shows disbelief, while the way she sometimes tilts her head to the left means she is encouraging you to go on. When she purses her lips, it's because she's trying to hold back a laugh. Obviously.

There's a strange comfort in this one-sided conversation, you soon find out.

Slowly, you resign yourself to the idea that this is your life now. That this is what the rest of your life will be like.

You don't even have to think that hard.

There are others, much worse ways to go. Worse ways to live.

But any kind of bliss is short-lived, you should know better. One day, she starts acting strange out of the blue. A haunted look on her face most of the time, she keeps on looking behind her, over her shoulder, as if there's something following her. Watching her. There's no one there though. You try talking to her, whispering reassuring nothings in her ear, your hand hovering over hers but never quite touching. It seems to make matters worse.

It's particularly bad one evening, when she's so nervous that she barricades herself in her bedroom, baseball bat cradled in her arms and a particularly large and heavy cabinet pushed against the door to make sure it stays shut. Your words of reassurance are useless, yet you still try, not bearing to see her like this. After a while, she calms down a bit, and deep down inside you can't help yourself but hope that you were able to get through to her.

You watch her pick up the phone and going through her contacts, stopping briefly to look at a name before she scrolls down again. Wondering who she could call.

Nobody, apparently.

She's as alone as you are.

So you decide that staying with her was quite possibly the best thing you've ever done in your life. You're not going to leave her. Probably never.

She eventually falls asleep, exhausted and you breathe a sigh of relief. The next morning, she's still on edge. "Is anyone there," she asks as she slips out of the room, baseball bat still in hand. She seems to relax a bit when she realizes how empty the house feels.

You want to help so you look everywhere. Just to be sure. When you return to the living room, declaring smugly that 'There's nobody here,' she jerks her head upwards and grips the bat even tighter, while her eyes scan the room, betraying panic and fear.

Your heart constricts in a way you never thought possible.

It was you all along. You're the one who drove her to this state. Somehow, somewhere along the way, she became attuned to your presence.

Must have been all that stupid talking you did.

And you panic, much in the way you did those first days when you realized nobody could see you or hear you or feel you. So you do the only reasonable thing and leave. You should see how the others are doing anyway.

You can't stay far for long but when you come back you don't talk anymore. You don't even move. Just stand in a corner, watching.

Still, she knows you're there.

Days go by and she seems to relax a bit. Becoming used to you. Still tense, but not afraid.

Your determination to not consider her boring anymore is severely challenged as she starts spending more time in the archives, buried under piles of old, dusty books from centuries ago. She seems particularly interested in Greek mythology and pre-Edda Norse texts. You stay with her, sometimes reading what she reads over her shoulder, sometimes wandering around the bookshelves, scanning the titles. But most of the time, you just look at her, studying her face and body language for any signs, for any indication that she is aware of your presence.

You remember what you said to her years before – one of the last things you told her before you were gone. Half in angry acceptance, half in a half-assed attempt at being mature. That the best woman won. That she won. That she was, is the best. An absolute truth, if ever you knew one.

Watching her now, bent over an ancient book, eyes focused and her lips shut tight in a stern expression of determination, you couldn't agree more.

Things slowly quiet down. She seems to have recovered from the scare you gave her. Less tense, less concerned about your presence. Her visits to the archives become less frequent.

She even goes out sometimes, drinking or dancing. Always alone. Even if some of her random hookups would like to invite themselves over or ask her out, she always leaves before they even have the chance to zip up their pants.

You approve.

You know you shouldn't care but you don't want to see her invested in a relationship. To see her get hurt again.

Slowly you pluck up the courage to start talking to her again and you do it so eagerly it makes you stop and question your sanity.

There is no sanity. That was gone long ago.

You gleefully recount old tales of jousting and mindless acts of bravery. Pathetic stories of woe. Distant memories of passionate nights.

She doesn't seem to respond. Her sensing you, or whatever it was, must be gone. Possibly forever.

But then one day, as you watch her sit down for dinner, a glass of wine in hand, she lifts her eyes and scans the room.

Your heart skips a beat. You could swear that her gaze settled on you just now.

She puts down her glass and fork and takes a deep breath. "Tamsin, is that you?" she asks tentatively.

You're pretty sure you'd be hyperventilating now. If you still had lungs.

She doesn't wait for your answer. Not that you'd be able to give her one. "I think I can help," she adds and smiles broadly.

And in that moment, there's nothing you wish for more than a stupid pack of tarot cards and having thought of a nerve-gritting, obsession-inducing theme song sooner.

* * *

**This feels a bit weird. Is it weird? Or weirder?**


End file.
